


The Lannister Wedding

by Vaznetti



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:18:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaznetti/pseuds/Vaznetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you're so determined to have a Lannister heir in Winterfell," said Tyrion, "marry the girl yourself."  For the GoT community prompt meme, "Sansa marries Tywin instead of Tyrion"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I won't do it," Tyrion said. "If you're so determined to have a Lannister heir in Winterfell, you can marry the girl yourself."

Tywin looked at his son. Mis-matched eyes, twisted body, no trace of Joanna or himself, but still: he should have thought of that already. Why hadn't he? Only habit, the thought of himself as widower, the sure knowledge that no woman would ever replace Joanna. He thought of the Stark girl: more of mother's looks than the Starks', but in itself that was no bad thing. A Lannister heir with Tully blood would keep the Freys on their toes in years to come. He would need, he thought suddenly, more than one son from Sansa Stark. "Very well," he said. And added, with what grace he could, "I should have thought of it myself. Tell your sister I need to see her."

Cersei, when she came, had more to say than Tyrion. "Married? At your-- To Sansa Stark? She's barely out of childhood. Are you mad?"

"She must marry someone. I offered her to Tyrion, but he refused." Cersei laughed at that, but Tyrion continued. "Do you wish to see Tyrion as lord of Casterly Rock?"

She stopped laughing. "I wish to see Tommen there. We can marry her to Tommen as well, if you're determined to see a Stark ruling in Casterly Rock."

He suppressed his irritation: he should not expect a woman to see past her own children's interests. "Sansa must be wedded and bedded now, not whenever Tommen will be ready for her. Unmarried, or married outside our family, she will remain a threat. Don't doubt me. I made you queen of Westeros," he told her, "and I have made your son king. Be grateful for what you have, and get the Stark girl's wedding clothes made." He watched her go, thinking that when Sansa was with child he would be sure to send her to Casterly Rock. There was no point in taking unnecessary risks.

*

"...to me, whenever I want," Joffrey was saying. Tywin stopped in the door and watched. "He's an old man. And he won't care, so long as your children are Lannisters." His grandson had the Stark girl by the elbow; her body was twisted away, and her eyes were on the floor.

He hesitated: it was true, he was old, and his father had been an old fool. It was not his nature to question his decisions, nor was Joffrey's stupidity good cause to abandon his plans. Nonetheless. "Leave us, your Majesty," he said. Joffrey stared as if about to argue, then pushed Sansa's arm away and left the room. Tywin could not see her face well, but thought that she winced. "Look at me, Lady Sansa," he said.

It took her a moment to raise her eyes. Blue, as he had remembered, and auburn hair. He had not spoken to her since deciding on the marriage; there had been no point giving her the chance to run to the Tyrells. Now he saw that she was younger than he had remembered. She was pretty, certainly, but too pale. Too frightened for beauty, he thought, although that fear might have its uses. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Thirteen, my lord," she said. "At the next moon." Her voice was clear, at least.

It was young, he thought; he had known that she was flowered, but had not thought to ask her age. "Do you know why we are to marry?"

"My-- No, my lord."

He wondered what she had been about to say. "It is our duty. You are the heir to Winterfell now."

"Because my brother is a traitor," she said.

He hesitated. "Yes. Your sons will hold the North. But mark my words, if you think to make a fool of me, you will suffer for it. Do not think that Joffrey will protect you."

She stared at him. "Joffrey? I... No, my lord."

"Good. Let us go, then. They are waiting in the Sept." He took her arm and led her from the room.

*

The wedding was well enough; the Stark girl flinched from his hands as he fastened the Lannister cloak around her shoulders, but had recovered by the end the feast. She ate little, but she danced with him. Joffrey made an ill-judged toast, an attempt to make a joke of Tywin's age and his bride's youth; Cersei laughed, and the court echoed her. Tywin frowned to himself. He would need to remind the court of where power lay. At least the Tyrells looked discomfited, and kept their distance. That would end, he thought; he had been told that Sansa had been close to the Tyrell girl, and it would be best for her to maintain that connection. The new queen would need companions of her own rank soon.

After the feast, the bedding. It was tedious, and Cersei was angry at him. He paid little attention to her barbs, but thought on the similarity between her and her son, and brought the ritual to a close while his bride was still in her smallclothes. Even so, by the time they were alone the Stark girl was trembling, and there were red marks on her arms. He laid a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him; she flinched away from his hand as if expecting a blow.

"Lady Sansa," Tywin said, "it is time to come to bed." She lowered her head and let him turn her back, but she was still shaking. He let his hands run down her arms and back up. This was a duty, he reminded himself. A duty for both of them. He lifted his chin with his hand so that he could see her face. "Do you understand what we must do?" he asked.

She swallowed and tried to nod. "Good," he said. He untied her shift and pushed it off her shoulders and down. Her skin was smooth and her nipples pale. She flinched again, but did not fight him as he picked her up and placed her on the bed.

Surely, he thought, Joanna had never been this young. She watched him as he removed the rest of his clothes and lay next to her, and remained still when he ran his fingers through her hair, and then his hands down over her body. As still as she could, he amended: her limbs were trembling. He wondered what Cersei had told her. He brushed his hands over the skin of her breasts and down to her belly, then lower to the sparse hair there; it was impossible to tell whether the hitch in her breathing was fear or anything else. In any case, she didn't struggle when he pushed her legs apart.

It hurt her, of course. The sheet by her head was wet with tears when he returned to the bed with a damp cloth to wipe away the blood. "It will hurt less next time," he told her. Her eyes were closed, and her head turned away. No matter, Tywin thought. Love was for children; Sansa would realize that soon enough.

end


	2. The Wood and the Sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin Lannister was still thinking of his first wife when he came to his second, still sitting before the heart tree.

Tywin Lannister had little interest in the Godswood of the Red Fort, but it is where his wife chose to pray, and so it is where he went. As he approached he thought he heard voices, but when her found Lady Sansa before the white-barked tree at the heart of the wood she was alone. He could not fault her piety, he supposed; Joanna had cultivated the Seven, and the people had loved her for it. But no gods could protect the Starks. 

"My lady," he said as she rose to her feet. "I require a word; I have news of your family." Her face was carefully blank, but he did not need much skill to see the worry and grief which lay beneath her mask. Best do this quickly, then. He took her by the hand and began to lead her slowly back to the gate. "There was an... attack on them, at the Twins. I suppose you have heard that your brother was betrothed to one of Walder Frey's daughters?" 

"My brother is a traitor, my lord, as are all who help him," she said. 

He tightened his grip on her fingers. "He repudiated the match, in any case, and married another girl, the daughter of one of my own bannermen. And although they were offered a match with your uncle Edmure, the Freys were unsatisfied. I am sorry, my lady, but your brother was slain at your uncle's wedding. Your mother as well." And he was sorry for that last, at least; he had hoped to be able to reunite his wife with her mother. Catelyn Tully would have been a useful prize, as well, in herself.

He watched her carefully: her face grew even paler, and her eyes even more blue against it. No tears, at least not for him. He still barely knew this child he had married, but in this moment thought he might have made a worthy match. 

"I know that you will wish to mourn them," he said, "but let me lead you back to your rooms and call your maids."

She tried to pull her hand back then. "No I should- I would remain here. My lord." Her voice was lower than he remembers on other occasions.

"Very well, my lady." He did not release her, but walked her back to the heart tree. The face stared at him, empty-eyed. "Lady Sansa," he said, and she turned to look at him. "You are the last of your family now." He could not be sure that the time was right for this, but equally he could not let the opportunity pass. "Your sons will inherit Winterfell, I swear it. I swear it to you now, in front of the gods of the North." 

Was it his imagination, or did her fingers tightened on his hand as he released it? But all she said was, "Thank you, my lord." Perhaps she had not really heard him; perhaps she was still too young to think so far ahead.

"I must go," he said. "The small council must hear this news as well."

"You-" she began, and for the first time he saw something other than grief in her face, something like surprise. "You came to me first?"

"Of course," he said. Someone - Tyrion or Joffrey - was bound to ask him how he planned to tell her, and it would be best to be able to say he already had. "They were traitors, Lady Sansa, but they were also your family." 

At that her eyes did finally fill and she pressed her hands over her mouth. He considered reaching out to her but thought he would leave her what dignity she could muster. And indeed, after a long moment she blinked back the tears and let her hands fall back. "Thank you, my lord," she said again. 

He bowed slightly. "I will return to you after the council meeting." He wondered as he went if he should reconsider his decision to send the other Northern girl to the Boltons; it might only muddy the issue of Sansa's rightful claim. He would have to send them someone, of course, as a sign of their alliance. Perhaps Cersei would do. Roose Bolton might well see the meaning in it, but he was in no position to object.

* 

The council meeting had been a disgrace: his children were getting harder and harder to manage, and Joffrey was a problem that would need a solution soon. The first step, clearly, was to get the boy's mother away from him. Tywin wondered whether he would have found the same weakness in Joanna had she lived, but almost immediately rejected the thought. Joanna had been strong-minded, but she was no fool. 

He was still thinking of his first wife when he came to his second, still sitting before the heart tree. She worshipped in the Sept as well, he knew, but came here more frequently. He supposed it was familiar to her, but to him the face on the heart tree seemed cold and hostile. Perhaps that was why the Northerners revered them: it was confirmation of the cruelty of the world, more honest maybe than the kindnesses of the Seven, which all too often failed to arrive. A lesson Sansa had learned well already, he thought. Perhaps that was Cersei's problem, too little understanding of the cruelty of the world. 

She heard him coming: she wiped her face off with the edge of her mantle and rose to her feet to curtsey. Tywin bowed slightly, thankful that he did not need to sit down next to her: it had been a long time since Tywin Lannister had sat on the ground. It surprised him a little that he would even have considered it.

"My lord," Sansa said, "would you come with me to the Sept? I would pray there as well."

"Of course, my lady," he said.

She took his arm as they walked. "I know that the old gods are strange to you. At- at Winterfell, my mother worshipped in the Sept, and so did I. My father built it for her."

"My wife worshipped in the Sept as well," Tywin said. "She was... very devoted."

Sansa was quiet as they left the Godswood and the guards he had left at the gate followed them through the castle. "What was Lady Joanna like?" she asked.

Tywin hesitated: he could see Joanna whenever he closed his eyes, if he did not take care. "Strong," he finally said. "Loving as well." Strong enough to reject Aerys for his sake, and loving enough to stay at court for him as well. "We were cousins, and knew each other as children." 

"I am sorry," she said. "It must grieve you to think of her still."

"She is long dead," Tywin said. "But it is kind of you to think of that in the midst of your own grief." It was the sort of kindness Joanna had been capable of as well, he thought now, and it brought out the same courtly responses in him that Joanna had. Sansa was silent the rest of the way to the Sept. He watched her there, lighting candles before all the Seven, pausing before the Mother and the Warrior before coming to a halt before the Stranger. She stood there with her head bowed a long time, until Tywin came to stand beside her and lit a candle himself. Joanna, he thought. He hoped that she would forgive him, both for what he had done and what he would yet do. 

 

end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I wrote more of this. I cannot guarantee that I won't write still more, but I have a history of abandoned WIPs so I don't want to leave anyone hanging. I hope that each section will seem complete in itself. I also am not sure I ought to continue it: I suffer from the urge to make this relationship... not happy, but slightly less horrible.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to those who assured me that I was not a monster for writing this prompt in the first place.


End file.
